


Waffles for Claire

by GiuGiu



Series: TUA Kid Fics [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Babysitter!Klaus, Claire does, Claire is an angel, Kid Fic, Uncle Klaus doesn't know how to make waffles, Waffles, Why aren't there more fics about Claire?, mom!Allison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 14:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18053933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiuGiu/pseuds/GiuGiu
Summary: Claire stared into the distance. And suddenly Klaus felt like he was five again and Allison was refusing to listen to Dad’s lecture. Ick, how did Allison handle having a child? How was she not constantly bombarded with awful childhood flashbacks?Allison gently cupped her hands around Claire’s face. “What did I say?” She repeated softly.Her daughter sighed. Klaus figured having Allison as a mom might get you used to losing arguments. “You said he isn’t a real adult and I have to wait for you to get home.”“Hey!” Klaus squawked indignantly with waffle still in his mouth.Or Klaus has to babysit a hungry Claire.





	Waffles for Claire

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda a mess, but I noticed there are like no fics about Claire? Unacceptable.  
> So here. I hope you like it.  
> Edit: I had the worst fever when I wrote this, so I went back through and changed a bunch of the verb-tenses so it's not such a clusterfuck. :)

Klaus sits on the kitchen floor. Legs crossed in some new orange corduroy pants. A pink silk robe draped around his shoulders and tied in a messy bow at his waist. He's rocking slightly, hand under his chin stroking his goatee. 

He had been tasked with Responsibility. Something that his family rarely gave him. But literally no one else could do this. They were all out doing important life-saving mission stuff. So here Klaus is, living his own personal nightmare.

“Uncle Klaus, I’m hungry.”

He immediately breaks out in a nervous sweat. Why did they think he could do this? He couldn’t take care of a small child! What kind of mother was Allison to leave her offspring with him of all people? 

What do you feed a child? Does she drink formula? Or is she old enough for baby food? He doesn’t know where to get baby food!

“Uncle Klaus. Uncle Klaus. Uncle Klaus. Uncle Kl-”

“Yes!” Klaus interrupts her chanting. Widening his eyes in her direction. “Yes, my dear, how may I help you?”

“I’m hungry.” Claire pouts. Her eyes assessing him just like Allison’s. Which is just. Creepy. 

“Okay, sure. I can do that. Um.”

She stands and walks over to him. Standing, she's slightly taller than him while he's sitting slumped against the oven. He feels like a kid again, Allison towering over him before his growth spurt.

“I want waffles.” Waffles! He could do waffles!

“Okay!” He stands up, slightly comforted that he is now the taller individual in the kitchen. He looks around the room. They're in Allison’s fancy apartment, and her kitchen is huge. Where would she keep a waffle iron?

He opens the cupboard by the fridge. Nope. A put-upon sigh comes from behind him. When he turns around Claire is dragging a waffle iron out of the cupboard in the kitchen island. Her small arms struggling to hold it up. Klaus swoops down to grab it, terrified she's going to drop it on her tiny toes (painted a frankly stunning shade of pink). Claire levels him with an unimpressed look. Well fine, maybe he was overreacting a bit. That's his thing after all.

“Wonderful! Danke! Okay. Waffles.” He puts the iron on the counter and plugs it in. Now what?

Now what?

He had eaten a lot of waffles in his life. But he had never made them. That’s what diners and Mom and Eggo were for.

He stares at the iron. Hoping answers would come. Where is Ben when he needs him? He hears the familiar  _ rattle-hiss _ of the fridge opening. 

Claire is standing on her tippy-toes, sliding a carton of eggs off the fridge’s shelf. Oh. Okay. He could start with eggs. He knew eggs. 

She slid the carton next to the warming iron on the counter. Nice. Did he… crack an egg in the iron? No! That would just be like… a scrambled omelet waffle. 

“Uncle Klaus. We need a bowl. And a big spoon.” Is the five-year-old taking charge? Klaus watches as the girl ties a tiny frilly apron behind her back. It was obviously a display of power.

Klaus is surprisingly okay with letting her take the lead.

She orders him around. Pointing at cupboards and making demands. It feels a little like Vietnam but without the mud or mosquitoes or overwhelming presence of death. 

He has to help her stir the batter too, her arms not strong enough for the thick liquid. He also takes the job of pouring it into the iron because he was not going to explain a third-degree waffle iron burn on a five-year-old to Allison. He likes his genitals too much to lose them now. 

But they did it. They made ten waffles. And only one was burnt. Klaus feels an alarming surge of pride. He did it. With assistance from a kid. But still.

They're pouring syrup on their personal stacks when he hears the door open. Judging by the click click of heels, Allison is home. He can't hear Five, who had been her partner for today, but Five doesn’t walk much so he was probably already in his room. Yes, Allison’s apartment was big enough to have rooms. Plural. Klaus had never had anything bigger than a studio. But, he supposed, that's the difference between walking the red carpet and walking the streets.

His sister marches into the kitchen, radiant as ever with her perfect hair and flowy black dress. How she did a mission in it, Klaus isn’t sure. But he admires her gumption. 

Then Allison notices the waffles.

“What did I say about cooking without an adult here?”

Klaus spreads his hands in a  _ excuse, me, what am I? _ gesture.

Claire frowns at the floor. “You said it isn’t safe. But Uncle Klaus was here!” Klaus nods in support and takes a bite of his waffle.

“Don’t give me that sass, young lady. What did I say about Uncle Klaus?”

Claire stares into the distance. And suddenly Klaus feels like he's five again and Allison iss refusing to listen to Dad’s lecture. Ick, how did Allison handle having a child? How is she not constantly bombarded with awful childhood flashbacks?

Allison gently cups her hands around Claire’s face. “What did I say?” She repeats softly.

Her daughter sighs. Klaus figures having Allison as a mom might get you used to losing arguments. “You said he isn’t a real adult and I have to wait for you to get home.”

“Hey!” Klaus squawks indignantly with waffle still in his mouth. The audacity of his family. Why did he do anything for them?

“But I was hungry!” Claire whines. Allison sighs and kisses each of her daughter’s cheeks.

“Well, at least no one died.”

“I take so much offense to that. I provided for  _ my niece _ . These waffles are scrumptious, and you come in here, and _ insult  _ me.” He shoves the rest of his waffle in his mouth and storms out.

They’re all living with Allison right now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t leave for a bit. God knows, if they were together all the time someone would die a bloody death.

He’s halfway out the front door, when he hears “Uncle Klaus!” and the quick pitter-patter of tiny feet. He turns around and Claire stops right in front of him. Kids have no concept of personal space, but then, neither does Klaus. “Here,” she says and places a container of nail polish in his hand. It’s the same color as her toes that he had been admiring earlier.

He stares at it, speechless. He's not used to getting gifts. Couldn’t remember the last time someone handed him something that wasn’t drugs (hey, he was sober now, okay). He stares at the glass bottle, shiny in the dim hallway light. It's half-empty, obviously beloved by Claire.

He wipes a wayward tear away, and whispers “thanks,” before sliding it carefully into his robe’s pocket.

“Don’t be weird, Uncle Klaus.” The girl says but she's smiling and suddenly Klaus finds her attached firmly to him in a hug. “I think you’re an okay adult. You just need practice.”

Klaus isn’t crying, okay? There’s just something in his eyes. He wipes them hurriedly before returning the hug. His niece is small but her hug is strong and warm. And she is his family too, he realizes stupidly, she’s his family just as much as his siblings. Except he’s never disappointed her, or stolen from her, or lied to her. He understands now, why Allison decided to have a kid.

She believes in him. Which maybe isn’t the best idea, because, c’mon, he’s  _ Klaus _ . The biggest fuck up of all. But, he’s sober. And today they made waffles. And maybe tomorrow Klaus will show her how to make patterns on her nails. 

He can be whoever he wants to be with Claire. He picks her lithe body up and twirls her around in the way he adored Mom doing as a kid. Her delighted squeals make his heart feel full in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

He still leaves. Because he really does need some fresh air away from everyone. But only for an hour. He bought some more nail polish and a paper doll kit and returns to spend the rest of the afternoon with Claire. They craft beautiful paper outfits for their dolls. Discussing colors and patterns and maybe Claire is only five, but Klaus feels that she's going somewhere with the way she combines colors.

“Uncle Klaus, your outfit looks bad.” His niece bluntly declares. And Klaus had been going a little risque with his designs. His current doll is wearing a blue bikini top, pink cheetah pants, and black boa. He was going for a hooker-esque mystique. Obviously it's too tacky for Claire who had put her doll in a glittering red dress with a tasteful leg slit. 

When she eventually has to go to bed, she asks Klaus to read her a story. He discovers he's quite a good storyteller, judging by the way she laughs or shudders with his dramatic deliveries. He's doing it. He's succeeding at taking care of small child.

When she falls asleep halfway through their second story, he places a hesitant kiss on her forward. That was what Mom did at bedtime so he assumes it's normal. He turns her light off and creeps out of the room. The pink nail polish pulling heavily in his robe pocket. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the fact that TUA is set in some technology deficient world means that paper dolls are probably still hot shit.
> 
> My tumblr is http://les-waff.tumblr.com/ if you wanna chat ;)


End file.
